Date: Sun, 25 Oct 2009 21:39:25 +0000
From: Martin Tawber
Subject: Leaving Ernesto at Last
When finally I got up the nerve to leave Ernesto, I did it quickly. I knew
he would beat me badly or, worse, sweet-talk me into staying. I went to a
lawyer on a work day ? the only time Ernesto let me wear clothes or leave
the house ? and I swallowed my pride and told the lawyer about what I was;
he looked a little queasy as I told him about the slave contract I had
signed and what I permitted Ernesto to do to me freely under the terms of
that contract, which gave him complete and total ownership of me (not
legally enforceable, of course, except in our own minds.) I stood up, at
the lawyer?s request, dropped my trousers and briefs to show him the
piercings and the tattoo that Ernesto had insisted on to mark his
property. I wondered if that were absolutely necessary, but the lawyer
insisted and seemed very interested, especially the ring in my cock.
The lawyer told me not to return to the house, and I did not for a week. By
then Ernesto was out and the Porsche was back in the driveway with the keys
in it.
The elaborate bondage equipment in the basement dungeon he had bought with
my money, so it stayed with me. When I decided to sell the house shortly
after moving back in ? too many memories ? I gave the stuff to an S&M club.
I was going to quit my job ? I had money put away ? get in the Porsche and
drive cross-country, trying to put Ernesto and his fists and his dreamy
pouty lips behind me. More than once after I returned to the empty house I
had picked up the phone and almost called him, but then I thought of how
angry he would be about the restraining order and what he might do to me
and I reconsidered. I knew one night, though, I would make the call.
So it was a good idea to get out of Atlanta. I knew I wouldn?t be able to
stay away from men who liked to hurt boys like me, what they used to
quaintly call ?rough trade,? but I thought I?d at least meet a better class
of master on the trip; after all, I could afford to frequent the more
exclusive type of leather bar. I had belonged for a year to Ernesto, an
extremely intelligent man but a construction-crew foreman on a foreman?s
wage. It was my credit card that came out in the restaurants, even though I
was the one under the table with Ernesto?s cock in my mouth. Now I wanted
to see how the other half beat their slaves.
I hadn?t been on the road even a few days, though, when I found myself
gravitating toward the same old all-night truck stops and dim, sleazy
leather bars. If there was blinking neon and bad food and lavatories with
no toilet paper, reeking of urinal cakes and piss; or sawdust and vomit on
the floor and long-neck Buds and burly customers who looked outright
menacing, I was there.
Outside Jackson, Mississippi, I pick up a long-distance trucker ? a fat man
with a big greasy beard ? in the middle of the night, staring at him boldly
across the diner. He stands, hikes up his jeans, saunters over; I stand and
follow him as he walks by me. He leads me out across the parking lot, all
buzzing sodium lights and fluttering moths in the soft night, and I climb
up into that big cab wiggling my ass for him below. He climbs in, regards
me as we kneel on the bed behind the big bucket seats. I don?t look away.
?I want to see it,? he says hoarsely. You can hear the eagerness in him. ?I
want to see your ass.?
?Yes,? I say, shrugging off my shoes and wriggling out of my jeans and
underpants. ?Of course.?
I turn around for him, still on my knees, push my ass at him. My hands go
to the back of my neck and I pose coquettishly. He slides across to me and
his rough hands prod my ass as I kneel with my back to him. Then he turns
me around to face him and unholsters one of the biggest cocks I have ever
seen. At least on a human. I am looking down at what looks at least like
what could almost be a fire hose. I reach for it instinctively.
I go down on him happily ? I?m pretty sure it?s the biggest cock I?ve ever
sucked, and I?m not about to miss this. I can?t get more than a third in my
mouth and I can?t deep-throat him because the damned thing is big around as
my wrist. I try lying down and taking him with his balls on my forehead but
it?s no good. Then he wants it in my ass, and I oblige him after he spreads
a rubber sheet over the bunk bed and lubes me up while I lie docile on
knees and elbows, my ass in the air and open for him. This must be what it
feels like to take a donkey, something I saw a boy do once in a private
show in Mexico.
Later I am looking at the fogged windows and putting my clothes on. ?Where
are you going, you little slut?? he says, grabbing my wrist.
?Don?t you have to drive this thing eventually?? I ask.
With his other hand he slaps me hard. I rock back, wincing, but he still
holds my wrist.
?Don?t smart-mouth me, you little bitch,? he says. ?I?ll make sure you wish
you hadn?t.?
?No, Sir,? I say meekly, falling back into old habits.
?You?re not going anywhere,? the man says.
I take a deep breath. Compose myself.
?What else do you want from me?? I ask obediently.
?I want you to stay here, right in this truck, and ride with me while I
make these deliveries. Give me your sweet ass and your mouth and whatever
else I tell you. I?ll be back here in four days. You can get your car then
and go your way.?
?But I don?t have any spare clothes,? I protest.
?You won?t need any,? he says. ?You won?t be getting? outta the cab except
to piss and shit for the next four days.?
I sink back into the pillows, acquiescent. He grins and begins stroking his
dick again.
?We?re gonna have a good time,? he grins. ?Don?t you worry.?
I took another close look at his dick and decided that was good advice.
Another time outside El Paso I found some sad kid on Craig?s List who said
he was a master looking for an older bottom to fuck. I picked him up at a
suburban Starbucks.
He still lived with his parents and commuted to junior college. I didn?t
want to return to my crummy motel. So we drove out into the desert and
parked and instead of beating and fucking me, I held him while he cried
about the boyfriend he used to tie up with handkerchiefs and have tepid
vanilla sex with and who had just left him.
Later, much later, when he had stopped crying, I told him about what I was
and what I did with Ernesto, the strange men he had me fuck and the way he
liked things just so and the beatings if they were not just so. He started
breathing heavily.
?That?s what I want,? he said. ?I?m no master. I want a man like that.?
We kissed and our hands found each other and we finished each other slowly,
sweetly, gently, looking in each other?s eyes. I could see adoration in
his. I dropped him off in front of his parent?s house in the wee hours,
feeling unsatisfied and a little embarrassed.
Or the dark leather bar in New Orleans, reeking of stale beer and piss,
where four men carried me outside and took turns on the hood of the
Porsche, sticking a bottle of poppers under my nose or a joint between my
lips when my enthusiasm and energy started to flag. I managed to finish
them all, sprawled across the hood, all that cum inside me and sliding down
my thigh and smudging the shiny metal. I was sore for a week. It was worth
it.
It was in a biker bar in Phoenix, though, that my life changed. He came in
with half a dozen buddies, all black leather and denim and boots. He was
tall, skinny, dangerous-looking despite the wispy mustache and the gorgeous
blue eyes. He was obviously the leader. It was only later I realized he led
not just because he was the toughest. He was also the craziest.
I went into overdrive to get his attention. I was a little too noisy, too
much brittle laughter; I ostentatiously dropped a dart and made a show of
bending over to pick it up, practically waving my blue-jeaned ass at
him. He hardly looked my way.
When I looked at him again they had some crouching little pale shaved
creature on a clinking steel chain, and it hunkered down and began to blow
my biker. Now he looked directly at me, expressionless, and put a cheap,
fat cigar between his lips and puffed contentedly. I burned with
jealousy. I would wear a chain for him, if that was what he wanted. The men
around him looked down on the creature and laughed and prodded it with
their boots.
I went to the bar and ordered a beer and started flirting flagrantly with a
man in a cowboy hat. Suddenly I heard a voice over my shoulder.
?What do you want here??
I turned.
?You?re asking the wrong question,? I said, feeling emboldened now that he
had come to me. ?It?s what you want.?
?What should I want?? he said.
?Everything,? I said. ?Shouldn?t that be obvious. And you can have it,
too. Whatever you want. I want to give it all to you.?
?Hmmm,? he said. He regarded the bold little slut in front of him, so
direct about what I had and what I wanted. I stared back at him.
Then he grabbed my wrist and turned it. He kept bending until he had my
hand up in the air behind me. I was bent over, and he marched me out of the
place like that, me almost crouching but not making any noise. I will say
this for the joint: Hardly anybody seemed to notice.
He got me out the door and across the parking lot to an enormous Harley. He
straddled the bike, looked at me, said ?Get on.?
And I did. My arms went around his waist, and my head rested on his leather
jacket. My heart pounded; the bike roared to life, throbbing under my
ass. Before I could even savor how good that felt, we were swooping out of
the parking lot and into the night, the wind in our hair. My hands
unclasped from around his waist. I slid both, palms flat, down under his
belt and jeans until I felt the top of him. He grunted. He was already
getting hard.
He parked in front of a ramshackle trailer with a screened porch. We went
in, him pushing me ahead. His cramped bedroom. Soiled, sweaty clothes on
the bed. Stained coffee cups on the nightstand. Crumpled potato chip
bags. The sheets looked dim and greasy.
?Get undressed,? he said as he shucked off his leather and denim in a pile
on the floor. Soon we were naked, standing at the foot of his bed. I looked
him over lasciviously, trying to decide which part of him I wanted in my
mouth first. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me to my
knees. ?Get me hard,? he croaked.
His dick was the size and shape of a plump sausage. It was clear he hadn?t
showered in a couple of days, but the gaminess, which long ago would have
repelled me, now made me hot. I took his balls in my mouth, and he groaned.
When he was hard he barked ?All fours now. On the bed.?
I climbed aboard obediently. He fished around in a mound of burger wrappers
on the floor, found a bottle of lube. He squirted some on his dick and
around my ass and two fingers slid inside and I couldn?t help it, I start
to whimper a little thinking about what was going to go inside me in a
minute. I pushed back.
His finger came out and now I could feel his dick push at my rosebud. I
tried to relax, but I was too excited. I was starting, in fact, to
babble. ?Oh, Daddy, put your cock up there sweet baby,? I crooned. ?Oh yes,
oh God yes, Daddy, fuck me good. I want to give you my twat, Daddy. I want
to make it so good for you.?
His cock entered me and pushed deep, a stab of pain like a knife at
first. He hadn?t spent enough time loosening me and he hadn?t used enough
lube. Too impatient. I cried out. He didn?t care, pushing harder
now. ?Please,? I was saying, a little fear in my voice, and he was talking
too.
?Take it you little faggot take it all you punk you little cunt get it up
in there goddammit? and he thrust hard with his hips and his cock went all
the way in and now the pain was still there but I was feeling better about
things. He was inside me, completing me, in a way. He was the master, yes,
but it was my cunt that he wanted, my cunt that he was fucking right that
moment, my cunt that clutched him greedily and made him moan. I sighed.
He was jackrabbiting me now, and in three minutes his big hands tightened
on my hips and his back arched and he delivered one last thrust. He
grunted. I imagined his cum spilling inside me. I could almost feel it.
He held the thrust for a minute, triumphant, looking down at his bitch,
then slid out. He collapsed across the bed, and I slumped, too, and he said
?Jesus you are one sweet fuck, I?ll give you that? and I was so proud I
could hug myself.
I rolled over on my back, reached for him. He pushed me away, my dick still
hard, and got up from the tousled bed. From the tiny bathroom I could hear
him pissing as he called ?Get me a beer.? I got up without thinking, still
naked, and went to the fridge in the cramped galley kitchen and got him a
beer and popped it and brought it to him in the living room, where I had
heard the television go on. He was already back in jeans and a tee shirt. I
was still naked. I sat down on the floor at his feet, one arm over his
thighs; I leant down and gently, reverently kissed one thigh. And then I
began to watch a baseball game with him. And that is how we began living
together.
(((((((((((((
He knew less than anyone I had ever known about pleasuring another man, and
he neither knew he was deficient nor cared. I would kneel and suck him
until he was hard while he sat in the big easy chair and watched
television. I had better be smearing lube up my ass while sucking him off
because he was supremely uncaring whether I was ready or not when he turned
me around and guided me with his hands on my hips onto his erect cock and
began thrusting as I crouched there facing the television and the stock
cars zoomed by on screen. I learned to keep a tube under the sofa, with the
dust and doggy chew toy and empty beer bottle that also lived under there.
When he had come he would push me off without a word, my cock still
hard. And I would get quickly back on my knees, his cum already starting to
drip down my inner thigh, and clean him with my mouth. He rarely showed any
interest in my dick, except to hurt it. Early on, I once stood up after
blowing him and waved my dick in his face. He grabbed my balls in has hand,
gave a sharp twist and left me writhing on the carpet, worrying about
serious damage. ?Little faggot,? he had said. ?Don?t you ever wave your
dick in my face again, if you want to keep it.?
I was forbidden to scream in the trailer, with all the other trailers so
close, but it was very difficult when he would grab me like that down
there; I whimpered and cried and gasped trying to hold my voice down.
?You fucking faggot,? he would growl at me while I writhed and
squealed. ?Little cock-sucking cunt. I ought to give you to the dog,
goddammit. I will give you to the dog if you don?t fucking shape up. That
blowjob was fucking terrible, and your ass ain?t quite as tight as it was,
it don?t seem. How?d you get all stretched out down there? You fuck the
dog? You been putting a baseball bat up your ass while I?m at work all
day??
Despite myself and the pain I would gasp back at him ?No daddy I wouldn?t
put nothing in my pussy but you? and the pain seemed unbearable until I
gave myself to it. I would bear it for him happily because that is what he
wanted and what he liked and that was the biggest thing I could do for him,
that he would let me do, giving him the pleasure of my pain. And my eyes
would roll shut and I would start to moan.
?I just want you daddy just you fucking me and making me feel so full and
good. I want to do bad things all the things you like I want to French-kiss
your asshole and take your pee in my mouth and drink it all down and scrub
myself with it my hands all over myself and fingering my ass and oh Daddy I
want it all I want it all oh Daddy you can fuck me in the mouth and the ass
I want you to Daddy oh god and you can hit me or hurt my balls if you want
even if you don?t need to punish me for something I did wrong even if you
just feel like hitting me that?s how much I want to please you sweet
Daddy.?
The times he really caught fire was when he was hurting me like
that. Otherwise I was a piece of furniture or an appliance that gave head,
like the toaster made toast. There was no foreplay and no cuddling
afterward. Just get him hard, get him in and get him a beer.
And yet I didn?t care, and after awhile I could even feel myself loving him
a little, even when he beat me or peed on me or just ignored me, which was
most of the time, and by far the worst treatment. In fact, that?s when I
wanted him most, wanted him to notice me, to look at me.
When he was brooding in front of a football game on TV and the Cowboys were
losing or just sitting in his big easy chair lost in thought and I would
feel myself longing for just a word or even a fist from my love and my
heart would leap when he would look up and see me looking at him longingly.
Sometimes he would beckon me with his hand and then he would point down and
I would sink to my knees.
I especially liked doing this when his friends where there, to show
everyone how much I loved him and how proud I was to be his. When he would
order me to do the four or five other guys sitting around with him, I did
it gladly, especially because I was usually as wired as they were on meth
and cheap whiskey.
I?d have one in my mouth as I crouched naked, and two more in my hands and
they would be commenting on my technique and instead of embarrassment,
little slut that I was for him, I would feel proud when they said nice
things and bad if they complained.
I loved showing off like this. I became a shameless little whore for him,
taking a perverse pride in getting them all off quickly so they could get
back to concentrating on the game, but also because he wanted it. I think
it made him proud I did so well and that I was another piece of his
hospitality, like the beer and the chips.
There was one big muscular one with a bushy mustache and a fat, veined cock
who took a shine to me, and when he had come, groaning and bucking in my
mouth, made me open my mouth and stick out my tongue and show him his
pearly cum.
?You like that, you little whore, don?t you?? he?d say.
?Yes,? I?d say, and not just for effect. I did like having his cum in my
mouth, evidence I had done well.
?Swallow it all down now, baby,? he?d say, and he?d ruffle my hair. ?Get
you some fresh nutritious cum. I made that just for you.?
I?d swallow, and he?d say, like talking to a dog, ?Good boy. Good
boy. Billy, what?s this cunt?s name??
?Fuck, I don?t know. Call him whatever you want. Cunt Mouth, for all I
care.?
?Okay,? he said, looking down at me. ?That?s a good name. Cunt Mouth it
is.?
He held out his hand and without being ordered, Cunt Mouth licked it.
One day he said: ?What?s your cunt like, boy? Does it feel good as your
sweet mouth??
?My cunt is only for Billy,? I said, not daring to look at Billy for
affirmation, and knowing I was speaking out of turn. Billy didn?t care who
fucked me in the ass. It was me who cared: I just didn?t want the guy in
the very place I felt was especially Billy?s, and that I only wanted to
give to him.
?He?s got a fresh fucking mouth on him,? the man said to Billy.
?Give him a beating, then,? Billy said. ?Just take him in the other room
first. I?m trying to watch this damned football game.?
The man got up, took my wrist in his big hand and dragged me half kneeling,
half sprawled, along the floor into the bedroom. I started to cry. ?No no
no no no,? I mewled pitiably. ?Please,? I whined. ?Please.? He threw me on
the bed and closed the door. He took off his thick leather belt.
?If I want to fuck you,? he said in a low voice, ?you damned well better
bend over and spread those cheeks, you little fuckhole.?
?I?m sorry, sir, I?m so sorry,? I whimpered. He was really mad and I was
afraid.
?Not as sorry as you?re gonna be, you little piece of shit,? he said, and
the belt came down on my ass, burning like a hot poker. I jumped up, trying
to hold in a shriek. He pushed me sprawling across the unmade bed and its
stale sheets reeking of sweat and cum. ?Now don?t jump around and don?t
make a racket, or I swear I?ll shove a bedpost up your ass.?
Then he beat me. I sobbed and choked back screams. I buried my head under
the crusty blanket. He didn?t care. He left me sobbing and striped on the
bed. I could hear him open a beer can in the kitchen and then in the living
room discussing football with Billy.
Other times when Billy and I were alone and he was, as usual, ignoring me,
I would simply go to him without invitation and often, for my effort, as I
clumsily tried to unzip him, he would push me away or even cuff me. ?Can?t
you see I?m watching Star Trek, goddamn it? Don?t you ever get tired of
sucking cock?? he?d say, and I?d sulk, naked, at the other end of the couch
and vow to myself, for the hundredth time, to leave him.
Instead I let him chain me every morning to a ring in the middle of the
purple living-room shag carpet on a chain that was just long enough to let
me get to the bathroom. When he came home every day from a job at a
rust-proofing plant, I would be expected to hand him a beer as he came in
the door and, when he unlocked the chain, to fix supper from him, no big
chore since he liked simple stuff like tacos and burgers and cheese
macaroni. I never wore clothes; he had brought the Porsche over, but my
suitcase stayed in the trunk. All I ever wore were dirty sneakers.
I was like a trusty tool to him, and he would lend me out occasionally. I
was the mailman?s Christmas tip (my, did his eyes go wide when he let
himself in to the trailer to find the naked man he?d been hearing about
chained to the dirty carpet in the living room.)
I had no idea he was coming, but I figured I had better open my mouth when
he advanced on me with a fairly formidable prick, and I did. I was so good,
evidently, that he came back the next day for seconds, which I learned
later was fairly bold, since he?d only been promised one visit.
Then there were two high-school kids who sold crank for Billy (his other
job) and who had heard that he was keeping a bitch in his trailer that he
occasionally let friends use. They showed up with beer on their breath and
all jittery: Their first naked man in chains.
They stayed for four hours. Every time I thought they would run out of gas,
they?d start exploring me again, fondling and touching me everywhere like I
was a museum exhibit. I actually wanted them to fuck me ? can you imagine
the little darlings, so young and awkward and eager? ? but they seemed
nervous in front of each other, and contented themselves with putting their
fingers up my ass to watch me get hot. And at least they were a little
thoughtful; when I yelled, they used lots of butter on my asshole. They
couldn?t find the lube. Billy had dropped it somewhere again.
Only once did I leave the trailer. One Saturday night he put a long duster
over me and I rode shivering and naked but for a pair of sneakers behind
him huddled under the big leather coat to the bar one night. When I got
inside, the duster came off and I spent the night passed from table to
table, at one point sprawling across a table on my back with my head over
the edge so I could deep-throat some guy they said had dropped in off his
sales route for the night. He had an enormous dick for such a small guy. A
guy on the other side of the table fucked me in my ass. They shook hands
over me afterward.
They had got another guy, a young guy, who came in and decided he might
like to blow one of these leather gentlemen in the men?s room, but not in
front of the entire room and not an entire train of dicks. He began to
fight as the bikers stripped him, and it took four guys to restrain him. He
kicked one, who punched him in the stomach several times hard. The guy?s
eyes went out of focus and he looked like he might throw up. Things were
getting out of hand.
I had learned much about these men in the last few months, and to my credit
I forgot all of it at that moment. I was sitting on some guy?s lap watching
this and I slid off and ran to the boy, sliding past the men holding him. I
put my arms around his neck and rubbed my chest against his. ?Let me love
him right up for you,? I said to the men. ?He just needs a little
sugar. Then he?ll do what you want. Just leave him to me for a minute.?
He slid a little down the wall as they let him go. I pressed myself against
him, whispered. ?They?re going to fuck you anyway, all of them, so you
might as well save yourself the beating.?
He groaned. ?I can?t,? he said. ?Not all of them.?
?You?d better,? I said, ?because these guys will hurt you really bad if you
put up too much of a fight. Please. I?ll give you the blowjob of your life
when they?re done with you. I?ll give you whatever you want. Just get it
over with. Then I?ll take care of you. I?ll make it alright.?
Meanwhile I began to hump him, my naked ass pumping, my cock hard against
his limpness. ?Come on, baby,? I said over my shoulder to the crowd. ?You
know you like it. Show me how you give that sugar. Give it up for your
sweet boy.? There were catcalls and laughter. I didn?t care.
He groaned again. I took a closer look at him. Despite the blood on his
face, he was cute; regular features, neat hair, sturdy, likeable.
?Come on, baby,? I said to the room. ?Come on. Sweet Cunt Mouth is gonna go
down on you, get you nice and hard for these men. Gonna get you so you can
shoot off your good jism and open your legs and give it to these guys that
are gonna fuck you so good.?
And I went down on him. And he began to get hard. I was starting to enjoy
it when someone grabbed my shoulder and tossed me out of the way. I landed,
naked, off to the side, amidst the spilled beer and sawdust. It stuck to my
back and legs when I got up and got out of the way. Like a swarm of bees,
they covered him, and he no longer fought. He was soon sprawled across a
table on his back with a dick in his mouth, one in his hands and his ass
was soon filled too. ?Damn that?s tight,? said a man in cowboy boots and
nothing else as he pushed his dick in the boy?s ass.
I went back to the man I thought of as my boyfriend now and sat on his
lap. He did not push me off. Instead, he leaned in close and said ?You?re
pretty good at that psychology stuff, for a little cocksucker whore,? and I
turned around and gave him a ?Who, me?? look and for one of the only times
I can remember we laughed together.
The boy came back a week later, Billy told me once. He was determined to
fuck everyone in the place, if he had to, to find Cunt Mouth. He was going
to take me away from all this squalor. Whenever there wasn?t a dick in his
mouth, he would ask if anyone knew how to reach me. I was happy and
flattered about this story until somebody else told me the guy left with no
answer and was never heard from again. Clearly, Billy was starting to
develop some kind of proprietary interest in me, even if it was only like
the one he had for his bike. Or so I thought.
A few days after that, I climbed naked on him as he sat on the couch. He
did not push me away until I leaned in and tried to kiss him.
?I need to talk to you,? I said.
?I?ll say something,? he said. ?Shut the fuck up.?
?No,? I said, quaking.
Now he turned to look at me.
?What are we doing in this trailer?? I stuttered.
?Watching football, or trying to,? he said, genuinely annoyed. ?And
fucking, which is what I expect you?re asking.?
?Well, it?s more than that,? I said. ?We live together, Billy. I?m your
girlfriend. This is our life. And I want to feel close to you and know you
feel close to me.?
?What the fuck are you talking about? I don?t wanna be close to you. You?re
a skanky ho who?d back up to a dog if there wasn?t any man-cock around.?
?It?s like a commitment,? I said, ignoring the insults. ?Where we
acknowledge we?ve given ourselves to each other. And eventually I?d want to
think about something like marriage.?
?I already got you, for Chrissakes. Fuck. Why would I want to marry you?
You?re a little cunt whore who takes it up the ass from anyone with a hard
dick.?
?You MAKE me do that,? I said. ?You make me take all those cocks.?
?Yeah, and I don?t hear you complaining. In fact I heard you riding Bobby
the other night and yelling ?fuck me fuck me fuck me.? You were crying and
practically howling and making all kinds of crazy noises. I think he blew
your circuits there.?
?I like sex. I don?t deny it,? I pouted. ?But I like it with you better
than anyone. I wanna be more than just a fuck toy.?
?Well,? he said, ?that just ain?t gonna happen, sweet-cheeks. Now go out in
the kitchen and make me a tuna fish sandwich before I smack you one.?
I hesitated.
?Go on now, goddammit,? he said. ?Get out there and rattle some
dishes. Don?t make me take my belt off.?
I continued to pout. But I got up in a hurry and went to the kitchen.
*((((((((((
I had been there six months when he came home one afternoon with a big bag
from Kmart. Crouching naked, I watched him turn the bag over. Out fell a
dark blue padded bra, a pair of white cotton panties, a white tee shirt, a
pair of very short khaki shorts, a pair of frilly white cotton ankle socks,
a shoulder-length wig and cheap makeup.
?Put ?em on,? he said. I did. The panties and bra, my first, felt
wonderful.
?The makeup,? he said when I had finished dressing.
?I don?t know how,? I said. ?I never.?
?Fuck, you?re a bitch, ain?t you? And you don?t know how to put on lipstick
and that eye stuff?? he said.
?I?ve done a lot of shit,? I said. ?I?ve let a boyfriend make videos of him
whipping me that god only knows where they are now and I once let a guy
take a crap on my chest. But I have to admit, I?ve never done that.?
He went to the phone, called the old woman who lived two trailers away and
bought meth from him. She came right over.
She sat me in a kitchen chair and applied lipstick and eyeliner and lashes,
pushing back the bangs from the wig. I looked like an obscene parody of a
prostitute when she was through. She held up a mirror to me. I frowned at
myself.
?Billy,? she said. He came in from the living room. Took one look.
?Perfect,? he said.
One of his buddies told me later in bed that I looked like his bitch from
when he had done time a couple of years before for peddling meth.
?Teach him,? he said to the old woman.
From then on, every night I was expected to be made up brightly, if not too
efficiently, when he came home. If not, I got the belt.
I didn?t cross him often. I could have simply left one day when he was at
work. Got in the Porsche and gone. He wasn?t chaining me any more. But
instead, for some reason, I stayed and rebelled in small ways like this, as
a petulant child would.
Still, instead of the perfunctory fuck when he came home, now he would take
me to bed for hours, and while he still wouldn?t kiss me or touch my cock,
he would let me hold him and kiss him below the neck, and if I were to be
denied his mouth, I reasoned, then I would kiss all of him one inch at a
time and rub his feet and nibble at his cock and kiss his rosebud with my
head thrust down between his thighs and the gorgeous taste of him at the
tip of my tongue. I worshipped him in bed. I became his completely. I
seemed to melt into him. When he had finally entered me, when I would
settle on my elbows and push myself in the air to meet him, it was as if ?
for the first time in a long time ? I had become whole.
And then I got too cocky, I guess. A big mistake for a slave. Making my
face up every afternoon had become intolerably dreary, sitting in front of
that mirror and dabbing my eyelids and lips and creating this grotesque
thing he seemed to love far more than the real me. He had insisted after
that first day that I also shave every inch of my body ?from chest to pussy
to toes,? as he said. Some days I would spend all afternoon in the tepid
gray water that filled the shallow, plastic tub in the bathroom,
halfheartedly shaving my legs, bottle of cheap wine on the rim of the tub,
stopping every hour or so to play with myself and finger my pussy.
I defied him two nights in a row, and he ranted and beat me with the belt
and it was so loud some brave neighbor called the cops the second night and
they found me there on the floor naked and sobbing, lipstick smeared all
over my face.
On the third day, I had awoken sore and bruised on the couch resolved to do
what he wanted that night. But all afternoon I just couldn?t get up for
it. He came home with flowers and a plastic Baggie of pot, but when he came
in the door and saw me he dropped them. He didn?t hit me. Quietly and
purposefully he got some rope and with the buck knife he carried he cut
some lengths. He tied my wrists in front of me. He got a fake leather
hassock and made me kneel and lean over it. He used more rope across my
back to tie me down to the hassock. He tied my knees to the legs of the
hassock so they were spread and my pussy yawned open.
He went out the screen door and came back leading the Rottweiler from next
door by its collar. I started to scream. He reached under the sink for a
roll of duct tape and taped my mouth after stuffing a dirty dishrag in. I
was still screaming, only now it was a squeak, as I bucked frantically and
rocked the hassock.
?Seen him do this once before, fuck somebody,? he said. ?Gave him a real
cunt once, this chick that fucked me over on a meth deal. Went to town on
her. Had a bunch of guys in to watch. Don?t know whatever happened to her,
but I expect from her reaction she didn?t enjoy it much. But she wasn?t a
cunt whore like you. I expect you?ll enjoy have a dog cum in your ass. And
he?ll enjoy him some boy pussy, too.?
He held me down with a hand on my back as I tried to rock away from the
animal. I writhed. I pulled muscles trying to get out of the ropes. Then
the dog began to sniff my ass. He licked my asshole. Suddenly he was on my
back, his dick thrusting. I puckered. I tried to turn away. I couldn?t
close my legs, couldn?t defend myself. The dog barked. His dick started to
go in. I leaped. The dog slid off. I leaped again and the hassock turned on
its side. My arms and legs were on fire from the strain.
?Alright, alright, goddammit,? he said. ?You?re gonna upset the goddamned
dog, and then he?s likely to bite you or, worse, me. Calm the fuck down,
you silly bitch.? He got the knife and cut me loose. I leaped to my feet
and ripped the tape off my mouth. I croaked something at him but I couldn?t
talk. I just cried hysterically.
He left me alone, let the dog out and went into the bedroom.
After a while I began to think it was selfish of me to cry in here, where
the television was, instead of in the bedroom, and I went in to tell him
so.